


Time

by ownedbyacat



Series: Sane, Safe, Alive [16]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:46:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ownedbyacat/pseuds/ownedbyacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson is MIA and Clint realises that there is never enough time for the important things in life. Like telling someone that you love them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I seem to be on a roll. I was struggling a bit with finding the voices again after the long break from writing C/C, but after I finished and posted Love and a Cough the Muse just kept going. Both that and Time may get a revision at a later date, but right now I'm happy with Clint... so there you go. Enjoy!

Natasha sat beside his bed when Clint woke. He barely remembered being brought into medical after the rather explosive end of his long undercover mission. He certainly didn't remember being patched up and passing out on clean sheets. That's what not sleeping for three days and fighting a running battle usually led to. At least, they'd let him sleep enough to feel human again. Even if he hurt in places he didn't remember having.

"Morning," he croaked, testing his voice.

"Afternoon," Nat replied and stretched her hand out for the bedside table, where a cup with a straw waited for just this moment. She picked it up while Clive pushed himself upright, wincing at the pain in his ribs, then handed the cup over. Her eyes were inscrutable while she watched him struggle to full alertness.

Clint had seen that look too many times to mistake it for anything other than trouble. Serious trouble. Because of that he took his time. He drank until his throat stopped aching, blinked until the gritty feeling behind his eyelids disappeared. He breathed deeply and only just managed not to curse at the sharp stab of pain down his left-hand side. He set the cup down and stretched cautiously, cataloguing aches, and pains, and twinges. He turned his head, cracked his neck and his knuckles and checked for bandages bigger than a plaster.

Nat didn't speak. She simply waited until he had finished his inventory and was ready to face her.

"What's up?"

"Coulson is missing."

Clint shot upright with a jerk. "What do you mean - he's missing?" he wheezed, tears filling his eyes. His ribs were killing him, but not as much as the look on Tasha's face.

"The op was blown. We got separated during egress and now he's missing," Nat repeated in a barely audible voice. "They haven't stopped looking yet, but they think... they think he's dead."

Had it been anyone else, Clint would have called bullshit. Coulson didn't go missing that easily. He wasn't easy to take down, either. But faced with the pain in Tasha's eyes, all he could do was push himself slowly and painfully upright and set his feet on the floor. This was gonna hurt like hell.

"How are we gonna get out of here?"

"I'll clear the way," Nat said tonelessly.

***

There'd been a certain amount of yelling when Clint left Medical, but that wasn't so unusual that it made headlines. If anything, the yelling had been subdued, and none of the doctors or nurses had made a serious effort to stop Clint from following Natasha out of the door. That alone told Clint how concerned people were about Coulson's fate.

The bag of gear - huge and filled with anything they could possibly need in their search and then some - that had materialised in Clint's quarters by the time he made it there, told more of the same story. As did the simple note that read, _Bring him back._ There was no signature, but Clint would have sworn the handwriting was Nick Fury's.

"Who…?" he began, but Nat shook her head at him.

"I hate those pen pushers," he grumbled, pulling a broad roll of surgical tape from a drawer and tossing it to Natasha, before he struggled to pull his t-shirt over his head.

"Let me help." Cool hands brushed his abs and lifted the cotton over his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't know whom else to ask."

Clint placed his hands over hers and looked into the beautiful green eyes. "You know that's bullshit. When it comes to you and Phil needing help, I'll climb from my grave," he said simply. "Just as you'd do the same."

She didn't argue, and really, what could she have said when they both knew the truth? She and Clint and Coulson, they were family. They had each other and they fought back to back. Always had. Always would. What were a few bruised ribs compared to that?

Clint could breathe easier when Nat was done. "Tell me," he said while he dressed and started packing. Nat, already in tactical gear, curled herself into a corner of the couch and explained what had happened four days earlier when they'd infiltrated a drug baron's hideout. The man had been tied to the latest synthetic aphrodisiac to wreak havoc in the clubs. They'd made it inside without trouble and set explosives around the complex of labs, but then one of the teams had been made. They'd fought a running battle to get out. Only some of the set charges had exploded. And when they'd regrouped, Coulson hadn't been there.

Tasha had gone looking for him - Clint didn't even need to ask - but beyond a few blood smears and Coulson's comm, she hadn't found any sign of him. AD Hill had sent a second team down 24 hours later, specifically to locate Coulson, but they'd come back empty-handed as well. Then, just as Clint returned to SHIELD, the bureaucrats at the top had started to interfere…

"Well, fuck them," Clint said succinctly, zipping his go bag closed and picking up his bow case. He'd never seen Nat so distraught, so close to losing her perfect control. It made him all the more determined to keep both anger and worry out of his voice and his his heart. "You have eyes on the compound?"

"I do."

"And you think he's been taken."

She gave him a look. "They didn't need to remove his comm to kill him."

"Then let's go get him back."

Nat was up and off the sofa almost faster than Clint could see. Her arms wrapped around his neck and the kiss they shared tasted of fear and fire and determination.

"I hate politics," she breathed, resting her head on his shoulder.

Clint wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. The kiss hadn't surprised him and neither did her sudden need for contact, rare though it was. Nat was like him, unflinchingly loyal when she found someone who deserved that loyalty. Someone like Phil Coulson. She'd bargain with the devil to bring the man back. And so would Clint.

***

Despite politics and counter-orders, getting to Coulson's location had been easy. They didn't even have to steal a plane. Fury had provided a jet and - while she brought them to their destination - May explained the political hoops that Fury was suddenly made to jump through.

A UN resolution had apparently condemned SHIELD's exploits on foreign soil and since most of the drug lord's compound had gone up in flames, the security council called the mission a success.

"I wonder what they'd do if someone targeted their families," Clint said. "If it would be okay for SHIELD to intervene then, or if they actually have the integrity to sacrifice their own loved ones for the greater good."

"Would it change what you do?"

"No."

"Then why bother?"

"Because we're lucky," Clint replied. "We work for SHIELD. We have training and weapons and we can go out and get Phil back. Imagine we were… civilians and dependent on someone else, someone like those…" He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"So, you wanna go after the security council next?" May's lips quirked up at the corners, but Clint only shrugged.

"Somebody should." Nat was silent, but Clint knew that she thought the same. For as long as they'd known each other, they'd never had enough time. Not enough hours to take down the men who needed taking down. Not enough days to spend in the company of people they cared about. Too little time to fight, to recover and fight again.

Clint had told Nat that he loved her. He'd heard her say the same words to him. And while they were no longer lovers, the words were no less true now than they had been then. Their love ran deeper than tangled sheets and burning kisses. Theirs was a bond forged in blood and tears and promises that would never be broken.

Sitting beside May and Nat, 33,000 ft above the ground, Clint realised that the bond he shared with Phil Coulson was just as strong. That the feelings he had for the man ran just as deep. And that waiting for the right moment to explain himself was stupid. Maybe all they would ever have was a single chance. A single moment to make that bond unbreakable. And maybe it was already too late….

Nat's hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present. "We'll find him," she said softly.

"We will," he confirmed.

***

"Ah, fuck, at least it's warm rain." Clint brushed the moisture from his face and grinned at Natasha, who looked like a drowned elf with her heart-shaped face, wide green eyes and sodden cap of deep red hair. They'd been drenched to the skin only moments after stepping from the plane.

May had given them a four-hour window for their search. If they didn't return to the plane in that time, she would take off and return the following day. Fury had allowed her four days to play shuttle and they all hoped they wouldn't need that long. Coulson had been gone for four days. If they wanted to find him alive, they had to hurry.

"Oh, he's here," Nat breathed two hours later when they had the drug dealer's compound in sight. The area looked as if a plane had crashed there in the middle of a hurricane. The burnt-out shells of prefab buildings stood like blackened, rotting teeth amongst the verdant green backdrop of tall banana plants. The earth inside the compound was churned and torn as if by giant claws and everything in the vicinity bore scorch marks. Little should have moved in this scene of devastation, but as Nat had been so quick to point out, the place was crawling with guards. Far more than were needed to discourage looters. Or to bury a corpse.

"He's alive," Clint nodded. "And he's been causing trouble."

"Agreed. The most secure position on site is the underground bunker," Nat whispered. "That's where they kept the test subjects and the manufactured goods before they were shipped. We could start looking for him there."

Clint oriented himself and tapped his goggles. The view switched from daylight to thermal and he frowned. "I'm too far away to get a read," he grumbled. "And there's a shitload of guards in the way. Is there another way in?"

"This is the quickest."

Clint primed his quiver and made sure all his weapons were easy to hand. "Then let's go."

***

Torrential rain had its uses. It obscured them from view and silenced most of the small sounds they made while slipping into the compound, allowing them to move faster than they could have done otherwise. It made it easier to creep up on unsuspecting guards, too, and both Clint and Nat took full advantage. They were within 300 feet of the bunker when their luck run out and the alarm was raised. And by that time, Nat was mad and Clint had forgotten all about his damaged ribs and assorted bruises.

They fought side by side and back to back wielding knives and guns with deadly force. Again and again, Clint's hand flashed to his bow. Again and again, he pulled it back, keeping tranquillisers and explosives in reserve. The return journey would be hairy, whether Coulson was conscious or not.

Clint didn't let himself dwell on the possibility that all they might recover was a body.

"Clint!"

Urgency and joy mixed in Natasha's voice and Clint gave up on being merciful and went for all out speed instead. He no longer cared how he took out his opponents, as long as they went down and stayed that way. He looked like a butcher by the time he made it to the bunker entrance. Only to freeze and stare at the spectacle of Phil Coulson with his heart beating like a hammer in his chest.

The man lay slumped across the bunker's entryway, his torso bare and his skin almost invisible amongst the many signs of torture. Cuts and burns and bruises blended with streaks of blood into a carpet of pain. But all of that damage was unimportant, since Phil Coulson was clearly breathing. The fingers of one hand were clenched around a gun, while the other held a bloody knife.

"Get him up!"

Clint tore his gaze from Coulson's form with an effort, turned his back on both Coulson and Nat and forced his mind back into mission mode. Never mind that his heart sang with gladness. Never mind that all he wanted to do was wrap Phil into a hug and never let go. Never mind that Nat could see clear as day what he was feeling…. If they didn't make it out, all his joy was for nought.

His bow was in his hand and he kept his eyes front and centre, even when he caught the sound of Coulson's voice and Nat's low murmured assurances. He dealt with each threat that came his way as best he could, swinging into one of the few climbable trees for a better view and wider killing ground, never letting his eyes stray to Phil Coulson. He tagged Nat's red hair as a marker, and emptied his quiver of arrows, explosives and tranqs with grim determination.

May had the plane ready for takeoff when they made it to the landing strip and she didn't waste a second as soon as the three of them stumbled on board. The loading bay door closed, the landing gear was raised and the plane became but a vanishing shadow amongst the lowering clouds.

***

"I think… I think I'm in love with him." Phil Coulson had collapsed in an unconscious heap before the plane had even left the ground. Nat had pointed out a tender, bleeding wound on Coulson's temple and a bump as big as a goose egg on the back of his head as possible causes. All before Clint could work himself into a proper panic. It seemed that Coulson had stayed conscious during their flight by sheer cussedness, and if nothing else, that was a comforting thought even if his body had now called a halt.

Clint had not moved from Coulson's side. Not even to shed his pack or clean the blood from his face and his fingers had yet to let go of Coulson's wrist. It was if he needed the physical contact to assure himself that Coulson's heart still beat.

"Of course you're in love with him," Nat said softly, cleaning the cuts and abrasions on Coulson's torso with a soft, damp cloth. "Do you mean to tell me you've only just figured that out?"

Nat looked vaguely disgusted and Clint felt like an idiot.

"Yeah. I mean… I think I sort of knew, but… How long have you known?"

Nat shrugged. "Since you risked pneumonia and ignored the guy that tortured you? Or since you hid in the ventilation system for a week rather than call him on his bullshit?"

"I wasn't that obvious!"

"Yes, you were. And why does it even matter? Why do you have to hide what you feel? I mean, it's not as if it's one-sided."

Clint felt as if she'd punched him in the gut. He knew that he was staring, but he just couldn't help himself. "What?" he finally stuttered, not surprised when his voice came out sounding as if he was sleepwalking.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Nat groused, not looking up from her work dressing Coulson's wounds. "You two have been dancing around each other for months. Everyone can see it, but you. Hawkeye my foot. Get your eyes tested!"

Her voice sounded irate, but a tiny smile lifted the corners of her mouth. A smile that Clint had learned to love since he met her. A smile that told him that everything was going to be alright. A smile that told him that - for once - there would be time enough for him to find the right words to tell Phil Coulson how he felt.

The weight that lifted from his shoulders at the realisation was like a mountain range turning into stardust. Clint smiled wide, and it didn't hurt. He sat up straight and didn't feel strange. He gripped Phil's hand and felt Phil's pulse under his fingers, strong and true and reassuring. And he relaxed for the first time in months, safe in the knowledge that time was on his side.


End file.
